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Sonnet History Poems | Sonnet Poems About History

These Sonnet History poems are examples of Sonnet poems about History. These are the best examples of Sonnet History poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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The trip to church on Sunday wasn't long
Down dry dusty country roads closer roamed
Hearts did rejoice when singing love's sweet song
Precious memories now deeply intoned

A home filled to the brim with kith and kin
No evidence of the grief she suffered
When in her youth tales of such loss did spin
By age of twenty-five her life crumbled

Joys of a young bride with husband beside
Darling daughters three in tow~gone~from life
Oh, life issues such hard brazen blows inside
No longer was she a mother and wife

Her faith in a loving God never failed
She had strength of character which prevailed  

I have been doing some research about my biological family
I found that my father's mother was married in her youth
and had three daughters which all died as did her husband..
She married my grandfather and then had four sons which
all lived..She never gave up her faith through it all..What strength.

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Three Things Incredible

Inside a Sears store, at age 14,
I stopped to stare, with others there, in awe. . .
A dream achieved was on a TV screen:
Man’s first walk on the moon is what we saw.

Two decades passed, and I, then 35,
had lived thus far to see a mighty fall -
A celebration broadcast world-wide live:
The Cold War’s end; down came the Berlin Wall.

Born when the fight for Civil Rights began,
I’ve seen folks hated for their darker skin.
When I was 53, a black man ran
for president; the whole world saw him win!

Three things incredible in history
I’ve seen, which fan the flame of hope in me!

For Brian Strand's 
A JEWEL IN YOUR CROWN any theme/form max 14 lines Poetry Contest

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"Talking Leaves" fasinated Sequoyah
A Cherokee who accomplished great feats
In noble deed stands tall like a sequoia
Though lame fought beside Jackson no defeat  

Success in battle 'pon warrior's horse
Winner in defeating illiteracy
He had an alphabet to endorse
After ten years effort deliberate

When his enlightment brought light, joy flowed
Then the Cherokee printing press spread news
Knowledge spread and troubled brewed discord sowed
The beginning of the "Trail Of Tears" diffuse

Sequoyah intelligent lone warrior
Battled to make his tribe superior

Sponsor: Shanity Rain
Contest: Native American People
Written: November 12, 2013

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December of that Year - Finale

Throughout the days that followed, panic and carnage spread
The TV stations did their best to calm this human dread
All the hovering ships returned to whence they came
But thousands still appear above, New York now not the same

Communication now wanes, no power or mobile phones
You get a sense of feeling of being in a world that feels alone
Continual drones hum whilst the yellowed skies remain
Our planet we know as it was, will never be the same

Then came the day of reckoning as we all looked to the sky
A shuttle from the biggest ship lowered in hover fly
Suddenly the screens returned as we heard the visitors speak
We are ancestors of the Mayans, we treat as they were wreaked

From our original pasts demise, to earth we gave so long
To be part of here now gone, from an earth you once belonged

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        February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;

and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.

They loved the Fuhrer--sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!

       And when the fire consumed all that it could
        the winter of their lives was understood.

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Merciful Majesty—Make Misery End!

“…when power narrows the areas of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of his existence…” —John F. Kennedy
Medieval misery crushing citizens; Shackled: grueling, clanging, negativity Middle Passage past, plaguing, yet frightens; Intense insanity—gangs captivity! Draining dreams and desires from hearts—slashed: Ancestral destruction, devastating; Bones protruding from ribs, weakening—lashed; Sight yet sickening, distraught, disgusting! Will God speak in molding humanity? Will His divine grace cleanse such evil souls? Self posed dictators, fool’s insanity Greed in governing—crushing others’ souls! Where art thou, Master of the Universe? Hold not thy hands while the poor suffer worst! ~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~ © Joseph, 10/1/08 © All Rights Reserved ~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~ Semi finalist contestant 292 out of 887 submissions June 1, 2009 International Contest ~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~ Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran. ~~~~~~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~~~~~

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The House

has a two story part,
a one story part,
a new part,
an old part
and an antique part.

Gables and pediments facing all directions of the compass
Tie all the parts together.

There are some concave outside walls;
There are some convex Inside walls.
The house breathes.	

It sees with its many large window lights;
Knowing where the kids are,
Watching the horses kick up their heels,
Catching glimpses of new spring kittens
	 scurrying out from under the porch,
Seeing with watchful eyes
	as the kids ski behind flying horses,
Keeping an eye on the dog
	herding the grand-baby away from the corrals.
Seeing the skunks, racoons,  foxes and coyotes
	slip by as we sleep,
They brace against the winds
	as they turn from south to north.

The glass in the antique part ripples
	keeping the view in constant motion – 
		never resting.

The grand antique porch has hosted birthdays; graduations; weddings;
	rendezvous and funerals.
Giving sanctuary to many a friend
	needing a place to come and sit in quiet for a while

The house takes comfort from the music of a whistle
	coming from the workshop.

Then watching the kids go, one at a time.
Then the whistler was gone – 
Yet it still holds out its arms and wings and peaks 
	securely protecting its remaining occupant.

The house suits me, 
	it is my eye candy,
		it holds my heart. 
I will live my last in this house
	surrounded by my life.

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Destiny's Perch

In the near future, I am going to add it all up into one big sum.
In the meantime, I am going to gather and collect my own space.
I will sift through seeds or weeds and present an enormous case.
But for sure I will hold onto every single yellow chrysanthemum.

In the near future, I am going to roll it all up sealing it by my thumb.
In the meantime, I am going to sit here with every turned about face.
I will drift through time rewinding the hands back to a God of Grace.
But for sure I will give the world a place my heart is triumphing from. 

Quickly, I will come to you,
And instantly I will be gone.
But injustice shall never do.
Nor shall a lie be my spawn.

Or at the least not on my expedient silver polished dime,
And certainly not while sitting on destiny’s perch in time!

® Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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A Purple Skirt

Many and many years ago back when
Many were poor and poverty was real
Lay offs happened_momma got fired then
We lived rural with pork, dry peas for a meal

Daddy worked, my brother worked a job too
So there was some money to pay those bills
Extras were not thought of_real needs accrue
Then my aunt came with clothes_now not dullsville

They pulled out this purple skirt with those buttons
Purple buttons how I loved those jewels
Quickly at once they said too mature, hon
Snip went those buttons_no bombshell

Pressed the skirt_wrinkles gone poverty stayed
Today those purple buttons mood arrayed  

Sponsor: Blacked Eyed Susan
Contest: Buttons

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In A Day Like Today

~In A Day Like Today~ (Sonnet) For winter,kind of cool here,yes,it was Very nice today,completed quite some,a bit Then just relaxed,reflected 'long,did sit After many chores I've done,took a pause Read in 1927 Dr.Seuss marri'd Helen Palmer In 1927, King Tut's tomb was discovered too Many events in a day like today Befell.Some good,some bad,catchy scar or star. Turn off TV.Only depressing,joyless shows Today,writing here another new sonnet Now,again,for a third day in a row Mulling over,just surfing round the net. In 1877,Edison his crank'd phonograph play'd In 1981,famed,actress Natalie Wood died. Dorian Petersen Potter aka ladydp2000 copyright@2015 January,15,2015

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My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun

My Heart beats faster when I touch my Gun
Loch David Crane, 
Border Patrol Auxiliary
26 January  2010

We track illegal aliens in the snow.
It's easy to see where their booties go.
But "huddled masses yearning to breathe free"
should wait in line and come here legally.
Your thievery dishonors those who came
here legally, but have Latino names.
If you, like others, waited patiently
we'd welcome you "from sea to shining sea."
"Observe, report, direct" and document:
these lawful practices are our intent.
On nights like this, lit brightly by the Moon,
I monitor the freqs from our comms room.
	My heart beats faster when I touch my gun:
	it's in the holster empty, safety on.

(freqs are frequencies on the radio in the Communications center.)

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The Death of Tutankhamen



The king is dead--and layed within his place,
  and night has fallen as it did before,
within his tomb he hides his golden face
  and waits to live and breath and love once more;

a grain of sand will last as long has he--
  young man--did they not tell you in your youth
That time will fade away, and secretly,
  while you await, to feel and know the truth?

And Tutankhamen, time will not reveal
  the secrets of the past, they fade away--
and all the things you long to know and feel
  are gone before they see the light of day.

  How old are you, young man, four thousand years--
  or just as old as all our hopes and fears?

You're just as old, I guess, as any dream
  and just as far away as space permits,
improvident sometimes, and yet we seem
  agglomerated to a life that fits--

We come and go--in circumspectful daze--
  disgruntled in our youth, and growing old,
and never seem to see the proper ways
  and disinclined to hear the things we're told--

exhonerating all that we have known,
   who take until there's nothing left to give,
for life is just a path that we have flown,
  from other dreams, where other dreamers live.

  This mass we call "myself" will soon return
  to heaven space, or maybe it will burn.


The power in us all is dominant--
  just as the time of Tutankhamens womb,
from birth we go through life--intransigent
  and hope the best will be beyond the tomb.

We hope that space is part of better things
  just as belief--in Akhen Atens day,
we feel the same as did Egyptian kings
  who looked at life as where they'd choose to stay;

exacerbated, as we live and grow,
  to better space, than what we have and feel,
and though it's part of life we do not know--
  it's just as dear--and just as harsh and real.

  How old are we? Not one could estimate,
  and if they did, they'd tilt the hands of fate.


The pylon gates that lead to peace of mind
  are open to the ones who search at night,
but truth in life is sometimes hard to find
  and pyramids block out the glow of light--

while deep below--mastabas hold the past
  and keep it safe--from any mortal eyes--
with stores of grain--while sun gods gold and cast,
  stare into space--where only darkness lies--

and Tutankhamens silence is a thing
  to last five thousand years of growing old,
at best--his wish was but to be the king
  within a life that's cast and locked in gold--

  and Akhen Aten knows he is okay
  that's why he will not lead his soul astray


but Akhen Aten hides his face at night--
  and southern breezes cool the scorching air,
and any sound is whispered soft and light--
  because there's no one list'ning anywhere;

nomadic tribes have perched upon his rock,
  and never knew that Tutankhamen hears--
each sound of life--each key that could unlock
  his mortal soul--if they would use their ears,

if they would see--the sun god is a friend,
  and leads to light, where Tutankhamen sleeps,
how many minds would see his mortal end--
 is not his death--though in our mind it creeps--

 and takes away the youth of ev'ry man
 and sends it to the time where time began;


How old are you--young man--why do you stare?
  The world awaits for you to raise your soul--
though fettered to the wind--and ev'rywhere,
  in time a dream will make you free and whole--

to walk again--the Valley of the Kings
  and ride upon the waters of the Nile--
where spirits bathe, and Nephritite sings,
  the secrets of the past--for yet a while,

the world is obdurate of any scheme,
  that brings new life--once death has made its' call
though greater men than you--have known this dream,
  not one still hides behind his secret wall--

  and no remains--stay hidden to the past--
  if golden chains are known to hold them fast.
© ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Earth Is A Beta Test

Earth Is A Beta Test

the original platform took six days
a man and woman were added the mix
with one fruit forbidden see how it plays
two brothers added one died by this fix

scramble the language by changing the code
then drop in ten plaques to make it all clear
man now a virus must reboot the load
flood all the land on the compromised sphere

send a messiah to work as a tech
new rules are installed to fix the O' S'
as the time moves on the programs a wreck
too many errors the systems in stress

the purpose of beta is do a test
perhaps the next version will be the best

Robert Gene Stoner Jr ©

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From The Towpath

  I peer into your depth bypass my reflection
  See an image of another day out of time,
  Mingled with spirit calling for one’s affection
  Lurid evidence still of industrial grime.

 Yet this fertile inspiration moved a nation
 Arteries connected living channels of hope,
 Creation of working class whom knew their station
 Seeking a desire for work each day they did grope

 To touch the water ripples flow and circles spread
 The cut healed with sutures holding tight bank to bank
 My sentiment grows with each circle cast thy bread
 Eyes look into mine from the waters depth are blank

 Bypass my reflection I see yours looking up 
 Your maker took those with no silver spoon to sup

© 20/11/2013
Collaboration by Harry J Horsman & Mandy Tams
Contest Entry 

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A child himself, just a boy with a bike
who gave a lift to a twelve year old girl
on his handlebars, down a county road.
Neither could know that a killer would strike
or that some of Lynn Harper’s becoming curls
would softly house blow flies, maggots and toads.

Unspeakable acts, a horrific crime,
Then a fourteen year old was crucified,
Remember the name of Stephen Truscott,
a teenager who served ten years of time
because Justice lied. 

*A curtal sonnet rhyme scheme, though mine is not iambic pentameter 


In June of 1959, Stephen Truscott, 14, was charged with the rape and murder of 12 year old Lynn Harper. The investigation was rushed and badly botched. Stephen testified that he dropped her off an intersection and watched as she got into a car. Witnesses were ignored and the evidence was circumstantial, yet Stephen spent 10 years in prison. After years of decrying his innocence, the Canadian government awarded him 6.5 million dollars in 2008 for a miscarriage of justice. 

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      Doomsday Rock
In these, our final days before the end,
come in a moment, faster than the eye,
'tis easy to believe, and comprehend
what lies beyond the end, is not to die;

We'll go as one, together to the last,
a world snuffed out, by something closing in,
that's been ten billion years, and coming fast
but we won't see it coming until then;

the speed it flies is something out of dreams,
much faster than a thought, it will be there,
and what we see won't be just what it seems
until the last, we'll see it everywhere.

In this, the end, out of necessity
we'll all believe, then we'll be history.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

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    CIL MAOLCHEADAIR   (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;

she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;

and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;

and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
       ©  ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

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May Day

May 31, 2010

May Day! 

I sprout with a surprise springing forth from me today.
Birds sing such a magnificent most pleasurable praise.
I want to be the one He promised soon He would raise.
I will be celebrated all by myself on that God-given day.
I will stand in His Gracious Glory at His appointed Say.
Yesterday will be but a blurring faded haze, life a craze.
He sets my soul on fire and sets my spirit off in a blaze.
I bet I will buzz like a bee zipping by you each May Day!
It is all in a day just for me to say.
Ta! Da! I’d bet you did not realize!
May Day! May Day! I say let’s play!
Walla! I say May Day’s materialize!

Waiting every May Day is loads of fun,
Unbelievably, May Day is never done!

®Registered: Ann Rich 2010

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These supple young hands, so innocent,
Not yet to touch though tempted in dreams,
But still I have no need to repent,
Though I am truly not what I seem!
In body I am surely chaste.
Did temptation not whisper at my door
And wrap my nubile mind in hot embrace?
But - for his love I surely can endure!
For love of God and Jesus I can last
And share my passion in my art.
Mortal love may never reach to grasp
Eternal love that gladly keeps my heart.
   So this soul of mine will find its rest
   With no regret of honor on my breath.

Modern Sonnet written for Cyndi's Contest
Inspired by the story of Sofonisba Anguissola
And her Self-Portrait with Clavichord, 1561

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William Wallace

Blindfolding Justice, lest the blind might see,
what tyrany's been passed down countless years
by those who make the claim, nobility
are all the ties that bind through death and tears.

What manner of a man stands up to these
annointed to the reign passed down by name?
No archer known to anyone who sees,
could suffer all, lest freedom is his flame.

Do endings end it all, or just begin
the pure of thought, that life is meant to please?
Though he was dragged and naked for his sin,
are kings not lost, and fallen to their knees?

And yet, their holding on is all life shows,
Through centuries royalty still comes and goes.
© ron Arbuthnot

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Book Launch

The generous seas do roam vividly,
And sacred words spoken earnestly.
People suffer and people go to war,
I just hope these words will go afar.

Yesterday I published a FREE book,
Indeed a feat of altruism, no crook!
I suffer in silence in every moment.
I have no money to publish a stunt.

I was just hoping for word-of-mouth
And email propagation as loudmouth.
Book is at:
I accept feedback just at:

-ALL NON FICTION- (This spiel typed in the spur of the moment - God Bless you)

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The Linlithgow Marches

The Linlithgow Marches

On the first Tuesday after
The second Thursday in June
A day steeped in history
Marches day in Lithca Toon

The royal charter granted
Back in thirteen eighty nine
Demands the border riding
To keep all the laws in line

When mustered at the town cross
pipes playing  ‘the roke and row’
The good folk of Linlithgow
Bring the past into the now

It is Linlithgow’s mission
A proudly held tradition

Brian’s ‘sonnet me’ contest 21st April 2010

Marches Day- the riding of the borders of the royal burgh of Linlithgow
‘roke and the row’—a pipe tune played at sunrise on marches day
Lithca Toon—Linlithgow town

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Soonn Deux

On the sands of time

How will his feet print on the sands of time?
The query he is so bothered to ask
Emirates, ere hit and run dashes his rhyme
And creates deep holes of vast pending task.

Will those little lights yet glow when he’s gone?
Or will they die off when he’s in that hole?
This, he meditates in his deepest lone,
Scribbles verse, should unexpected grips whole.

Placer orb was where he conceived this tongue;
Whence his momentary opt to torch the ground
Ere it will be too late to dong a gong-
Then the planet will guest still air of sound.

For the world abrupt visitors, he scribes
This anon writ, ere God sends His un-bribes.

©A.O, 4/3/2014.

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Spirit Wind

(A Cornish Sonnet)

Behold new green enchants the distant plain,
where once the hooves of hundreds thundered on,
as braves drew aim in hunger for those slain
and eagles soared aloft through purple haze.
In drumbeat's pulse, flames flickered near the dawn,
outlining dancers shadowed in the blaze.

Where spirit wind played priest to man and beast,
a pale moon's face exposed betrayers' lies, 
and red man's rage clawed forth to find release.
Dry dust storms swept the ranchers' dreams aside;
throughout the land echoed the victims' cries,
in land that once ramped up a home-born pride.

Behold new green enchants the distant plain,
where spirit wind played priest to man and beast.

cfa © 5/14/2010



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The Inaugural Ball of America's Fall

On this infamous, tragic date of January twenty first, two thousand thirteen,
surreptitious, long orchestrated events gave way to an ambiguous elation.
Such an ironic, accepting, joyous treason has never been seen,
The culmination of the Trojan horse take over of a once great nation.

On freedom and hope, “winners” closed their own iron gated curtain,
Their votes for “change” and “choice” had sealed their own negative fate,
Definitions of good and evil exchanged, that much is certain.            
Lies flew like flies from an angel of light in a fiery lake.

The majority voted for a self proclaimed Godless administration,
Again, they knew much better than God and deemed themselves higher,
And conformed His laws to the usual “ I’m worth it” reconfiguration.
Happily roasting themselves on their own funeral pyre.

On the date of this  “ominous party”  take over.
The Constitution was happily thrown to Rover.


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In the still of night we contemplate the dawn of a day
when we shall be free of the mind games shadowing
liberation sustained by generations whose lives were
put on hold: lives often ending in holes.

The chiming moments of the shades of night strike nerves
playing blues/jazz/gospels awakening dormant minds
to the un-televised revolution whose seeds were sown
in the youth of fertile convoluted brain matter.

Each stilled night, in its season, generates new revelations
revealing the I am because they are the steady black bridges
spanning over the paths that with blood had been watered…
Steady black bridges over which we have crossed over on.

Yet, despite the toils and tribulations of these ancestor 
travelers, we’ve forgotten the blood debt to be paid.
Now is the time to let Jordan Roll like the rolling thunder
that follows the flashing lightening!  Now is the time 
to grasp the baton the torch bearers have passed on to us;
and pursue the dream’s vision to the reality that must be.

The fathers and mothers who have gone before us, must 
not wallow in sunken graves of disappointment.
Indeed the ball is now in our court and now is the time.
Let us lay up new legacies for those in the darkness of wombs;
let us lay up new legacies that they may follow the light 
of a new day…dawning with the power of the Lion of Judah!

Now is the time; yesterday is gone and tomorrow is too late.
Now is the time: People get ready…there’s a train a’coming…

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Great Spirit here come I in humble prayer
child of your Bedonkohe blood and line.
I raise my hands to recognize you there
and plea you recognize this heart of mine.

I know you welcome all into your light
And let my way, as through this death I go, 
Be swift and sure, if bad or good or right
As certain as blood of Geronimo.

Look! Is my line not tied to what's his past?
And does this not bring us our only choice
To bide amongst the tribe from out our past?
To gather in your light, and raise one voice

Of this, our song, our voices unified
And handed down through time, where we have cried.
...............© Ron Wilson
Another very special Sonnet that just wrote itself through me...where do they come from? And how?

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How droll the campfire

Singing soul as to fiddle then the crowd does plead                                                      Many tales, secrets old, all the news I shall share                                                              Circling like stone soup without which it could not be                                                         It will rise on end hairs of your neck, this a droll                                                            For a wee bit of hearth a morsel will you spare                                                              He does tell the amazing stories, songs new some old                             *          
A wondering lone stranger sets by the hot fire as story too becomes real children tremble blue But the horrific one stands above a bloody sire A droll teller came in but a killer does sleep Like the piper when he pays his just dues The keeper of the story does also reap *
* Singing soul as to fiddle then the crowd does plead A wondering lone stranger sets by the hot fire

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Look in this glass

Look in this glass, and tell me if you can see a little devil in; 
But, I`m afraid you cannot do it today, so let it pass; 
Another day`s impatient breath, another person you have seen: 
So let your lazy shadow lying in the powdered grass; 
Ask the old King Lear to let you comb his long white beard;
Enjoy this frozen sky in which ancestors’ eyes met old mystery;
Multitudes of aged persons so fond of the white tomb, I heard
As being hung by white dreams of self-love, and cold posterity; 
Matusalemes of great expectations still live gloriously in thee.
Bring the white seasons for other tomorrow learning to smile; 
So through the windows of this misunderstood freedom, you see 
Despite of wrinkles of our earth and heaven, this is patience`s time. 

But if you have seen the little devil in the mirror, this could be 
The old tempter moving a mountain, from other realm for thee... 

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Down Where The Forsythia Blooms

Down the road where the Forsythia bloomed
Bright yellow despite dark clouds amassed
Flooding rains, thunder, lightening flashed
Touched with sadness for home removed

Spirits of hardy souls still live
Floating shrouds mixed with the rain
Hear their voices in the howling wind
Feel their presence in Bamboo Chimes again

On days like today with gray_flooding
Winds that chill_sleep elusive
One bright spot offers assurance_comfort
Knowing that in our going memories will linger

For at least one generation children will see
Our lives lived down where the Forsythia blooms

(I know that the rhyming and syllable count is off)

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Apache kid outlaw

He was rsised in New Mexico
and became feared more than Geronimo
The army enlisted  him as a brave
to track down other braves.
Accused of many crimes
he escaped many times.
He led many raids
with his four braves.
He didn't trust his tribe 
so he stayed on the outside.
People say he died
in a fight with soldiers
others say he died in his cave.
Even ranchers claim 
to have killed the brave
down in New Mexico way
after a raid.

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Berlin 1948-1952

        Was Ist Los?  Oh, Nothing, Just the Berlin Airlift...
         Berlin 1948-1952
You came into my life one summer's day
the beatnik of a Frauline, caring less
of what society might have to say
than seeking out your inner happiness;

those were the days! Berlin was in a bind
you still had all your tan from South of France
and in your hair, what flowers you could find
but not dressed out for love, it came by chance.

"What's going on?" you said, as our eyes met,
suggesting I might think the same as you,
you seemed just as surprised as I, and yet,
it seemed so natural, the bonding grew.

       As freedom roared down from uncertain skies
        love came into our world, from where love flies.
The roar of engines fell from overhead
as pilots dropped into that world of yours,
delivering your life--your daily bread,
to show you when it rains, it surely pours;

all your emotions mixed, I caught the feel
you had, that maybe life was fit to live,
you pinched yourself to see if it was real
and still the sky gave out all it could give.

The ships were ev'rywhere--hope made it's call
as my faint heart fell to the will of you,
der Kempf, 'twas ended then, once and for all,
and now you'd see what only love can do.

       your question--was ist los--what's going on?
        was answered in that break of early dawn.

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Armageddon's end

Ballistic nukes departed Sayda Bay,
A CIA sitrep affirms French Intel,
A fleet of Russian ships was under way,
Their course at flank arrival point Mariel.

Kennedy and Khrushchev both have calloused skin,
The weeks at DEFCON2, really clipped our wings,
Aboard the sub our nerves were frazzled thin,
A war of nukes was chess without the kings.

The Captain's voice is Armageddon’s end,
ComSubPac orders are to stand us down,
The Cuban blockade ends amidst amen’s,
The Soviets have turned their fleet around.

A year of shaky peace; deceptions bed;
To arms again, our hero JFK is dead.

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The secrecy of Darkness and Enlightenment

knowledge and nescience define the cursed
patience and impatience battling for a burst
perseverance and despair fighting for attention
all gathering in their other layer of retention

courage to reinvent right and wrong 
willingness to admit the unnoticed prong
hearts and souls in unwanted asylum
all carrying their still hidden alum

untold stories define private secrecy
as printed in black hopefully a temporarily legacy
united in past the cracks still display
no tarrying of the little Light leading to their place to stay

lighting the candles such a simple valiant radiant gesture
assimilating the Light should enshroud  a renewed vesture

(c) Elly Wouterse 2015

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Midnight Pearl

 "Midnight Pearl"

There is none faster to traverse the seas
Or stirring terror in hearts 'round the world.
Her sails as black as midnight steal the breeze.
This envy of the deep is called the Pearl.

She lies in wait near trade routes of the East
For loaded frigates bound to England's coast.
With Calcutta to Canton's cargoed feast,
They're pillaged, plundered, raped and put to roast!

Though, East India Trading Company,
Enraged by constant smuggling and the rut,
Fights harsh without success relentlessly,
The Pearl takes spoil and always doubled up.

It's midnight, Pearl, your hatches all dogged tight...
Horizon bound, more frigates yearn to fight!

by~deborah burch©

English/Shakespearian Sonnet

For PD's contest:any poem

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Highlands Fore'er

Oh, write tae me of the highlands, 
the crisp air and the damp. 
Write tae me of the heather'd fields 
'ere Bonnie Charlie danced. 

Oh, place yo'r quill upon the page 
and dream a fey song wit me, 
of rock tor's an' crags an' fiords 
which join the raging sea.

Of fair Iona, the Isle of Sky
the Inner Hebrides.
Hike yo'r kilt, strap on the uilleann 
and keen a sweet song for me.

Oh, dinnae tarry beyond the pale,
with the wail of the brash banshee.
*Written in dialect in the style of Robert Burns
**Dedicated to our Jamie our own Highlander

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what lurks within

can this be the room where the Ripper was?
Jack the Ripper killed a number of girls
killing ladies of the night without cause
and he gave Scotland Yard greatest more curls

his identity still remains unknown
maybe jack the Ripper wasn’t a man
the name Jack the Ripper is so well known
this room on Osborn Street home to a man

even though his identity not known
a nearby foot print seemed like a huge man
the real Jack the Ripper may not be known
his identity mystery to man

but maybe that room has all the answers
once it is studied by examiners

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An Afghanistan Wedding

The swift and silent missiles swept,
The quiet well kept neighborhood.
They ran like hell, those that could,
While the reposed laid in their best dress.
With evil-doers upon the earth,
Vigilant must be the pursuit.
To cut the sickened by the root,
And banish vile impure thought.
With white-collar crime for collateral,
It matters not the costs.
As pockets line, the death toll climbs,
While the positioned take sabbatical.
And I cannot hide my bastardness,
For when we kiss   my lips   fall dead.

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You know buddy

When I fall sick I found the importance of my sound body.
Otherwise I ignored my practice to live with the hard treatments.
When you punched me I cried with pain and prayer for mercy hints.
Please forgive me oh lord Christ my soul is yours but little moody.
My mind is worshipper of devil. my evil spirit speaks loudly.
I know I run for my benefit never care who is dying thirsty,
I know I killed the appetite of a human open the fire with cursety. 
I never thought of your chase I walked fast to hide face with hoody.
So nobody can identify the task that I killed innocence of children.
Raped women for my fun.  never encounter that i committed sin. 
I'm warrior fighting for my nation got a certificate to exploit others,
I 'll be honoured with these achievements if I harass my brothers.
My actions are appreciable and acknowledged for further study,
A community's progress is based on references you know buddy.

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Julius Caesar

Oh, Caesar, though our touch is lost in time:
Weeks, passing years, and years long eons, passed,
I still can hear and feel in learnéd rhyme
Your essence. Like some bee which has amassed
Sweets of the digitalis and the rose,
So have you much amassed in glory’s sack.
Yet just as power strengthens, so greed grows
And weighs much heavy burdens on the back!
Oh, Caesar, stricken soul who now weeps on
The fallen ashes of your flaming lands
Who roamed into the gold of Egypt’s sun
The spirit who travailed on its sands,
    It looks as if the boon of glory’s womb
    Had come to stow the image of your tomb

© 2014 Gleb Zavlanov

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Bring in Shemp

A bad break came to my kid brother Curly. It happened during the filming of “Half Wit’s Holiday”. A stroke at his age is considered too early. He will be unable to act they say. A replacement for Curly is needed right away. I told them Babe’s condition is temporary. The studio is auditioning candidates today. I insisted Curly will be back, you’ll see. However, our producers said they disagree. We need a third Stooge immediately. I mentioned my older brother Shemp as a possibility. They said Shemp looks too much like me. I told them to take Shemp now that Curly is gone. If not, then the Three Stooges will walk on. Information obtained from the late Moe Howard's autobiography.

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SARAJEVO City of Palaces

Each hall in every palace is a death
that's been for cen'tries; never ask it why;
it leads the hearts of men, in ev'ry breath
to join the call to arms, and go to die.

and what has led them on is what's been willed
to handed down, and what's been going on;
the shackles then are forged,  the cup is filled
to overflowing with each troubled dawn.

Why else but Sarajevo is the cause?
Division of a way of life they live,
if you should ask them why, they say it was,
and so it is; it's all that life can give.

The beauty that was Sarajevo's charm
will come and go with every call to arm.
© Ron Arbuthnot aka Ron Wilson

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We boomers, as our generation’s called,
have lived through two seasons, considered great,
during which our values were overhauled --
The Summer of Love and Autumn of Hate.
Both brought us together and gave us hope.
In the face of injustice, both were staged --
the first, a celebration with free dope,
the other a tragedy that enraged.
We were innocent in ‘Sixty-Seven;
we saw world violence and were appalled.
Our attitudes changed by Nine-Eleven;
we sought revenge, though we were shocked and galled.
While Winter of War passes, may we find
The Spring of Renewal and peace of mind.

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The Protestant Reformation in Verse

Challengèd courts, Christendom held in palm,
Tyranny, oppression, falsehoods contrived
On which hingèd stability and calm,
Uprooted by man’s theses ninety- five
On door are tackèd for eyes all to see.
Revealèd wisdom, from God above sent,
Reformation of courts not left to be –
Defiance heighten’d, faith in God, unspent.
Truth in hands of people brings forth reform –
Justified by faith as Word inspired saith;
Transubstantiation false, ne’er to mourn
Catholic evils overcome by faith.

				All is owèd this man, held safe by One
				Named Martin Luther Gods favor’d son

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Dust and blood on an iPod that plays,
Hole, for love of country, for love,
Of the scope on a fine bolt action M-40  rifle.
Cupid was a sniper, for love of Psyche.
Like the marksman in the minaret that shot,
Lance Corporal Miller in the face,
He will have a thousand virgins at his feet.
As Corporal Nick Ziolkowski loved to kill,
Having taken three mortals in one day,
Was a badge of honor he would proclaim,
Now he lives under that shining city on the hill.
The world loves it’s patient heros,
How gently they lay in wait, divinely,
Saving humanity    from it’s dark Eros.

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OMG -prohibited punctuation mark- They still have ashtrays

Where I live, you have to ask for one.
And there may not be one
but you know how it used to be and
now you don't, so much.

Lighten up anyway, 'cause hey
and hay didn't used to be so
far away from those
incredible cafe ashtrays.

Once upon a time
in a not-so-distant land
floors of stores pretended to be 

Now we grind all sortsa
other stuff in our stories.


CAFE MUSING by Nancy Jones

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If loneliness makes a poet out of one,
Is it worth to pursue this ambition
As a Friar Minor until he's gone...
Following the burst of inspiration?
So estranged from all, only breathing air...
Writing with a frantic, insatiable urge;
He will become a prisoner of his lair,  
Hiding his edentity 'till madness will surge.
Resisting all changes and detesting pleas:
He'll continue living and be a patriarc,
Demanding peace in honorable deals...
A patriot without fighting wars and havoc. 

His life will end, but his pain will be sealed  
With noble ideas waiting to be revealed.  

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Sonnet 15

As technology has progressed , bound leaps ,
within the nanny state , Man simply sleeps .
Replaced Automatic ; Manual Labour.
Solved by Machine mind's , Binary No more .
For synthetic constructs for your whim , creeps
pumping cheese-its into bulging wheeze heaps.

So keep That lard thru blood , spotless , can ignore
such irritations as ; Clearing the floor .

While Digital duty serves ; watch those beeps 
streaming 24/7 fiction keeps
sake in sight , forms pixel ; away those flaws 
by Avatar's dream , away life's true claws.

While around , leashed , the world quietly leaps ,
Attended by metal hands ; Left
	Man Sleeps....

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Robert Michum 7-1-97 Jimmy Stewart 7-2-97 Charles Kuralt 7-4-97

         ROBERT MITCHUM-----7/1/97
          JIMMY STEWART-----7/2/97
           CHARLES KURALT------7/4/97
On lifes long road, who knows where are the ends
and when the ones we love leave us alone
what words express the loss of dearest friends
held oh! so dear, whom all the world has known?

Was this their highway junction to all time?
Our grief would be too great for only one,
and three together taken, shouldn't rhyme
but brings reality now that they're gone.

Out on the road, with Charlie, Bob and Jim,
we see ourselves in all they've ever done,
as memories, some bright and others grim,
from reel to reel, and love them every one.

They told our stories, every one was real,
as if they knew exactly how we feel.
               God Speed, My Friends
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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Once a landmark, beautiful country home
Stately hundred year old oaks surrounded
Years ago productive farm was awesome
In the community family grounded

House sold for family built new dwelling
A different family then resided
But an orange red glow took home quelling
All the families joy gone with farmstead

A sadness engulfed me, for fifty years
Of memories and constantly seeing
Home in passing, now new home will premier.
Crumbled burned tin remains for time being

Life's assurance_change will happen sooner
Or later, adaptation roughly hewn

Click on "About This Poem"

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Men are not moles and are not meant to be, Yet coal was needed, so below we went, A thin light on helmets just let us see small tunnels that weak fans barely could vent. Dust can stain the skin, sweat can drain a soul, And each miner knows death patiently waits, The company profits as workers toil while cave-ins or black lungs just obey fate. Aye, we’d mouths to feed, families we love, But we dreamt of sun, clean air to breath, For hope came along, wouldn't stay above, Yesterday is gone, tomorrow we’ll grieve. Deep down, decades under the ocean floor, Dead miners refuse to dig any more.
*Dedicated to my father in law, a former Cape Breton miner who became a miner though HIS father died in a mining accident when he was just a boy and to the Men of the Deeps, the only north American singing group of former miners. . For their song Working Man (

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Together we should sail uncharted sea
so if our ship is dashed on rocky slate,
we have no fear, but know that one of we
remains afloat, to save us from our fate!

And I would have you tredging at my side
if where I go is dark, through jungles deep,
so I'll be confident, although implied,
and not to worry much, when I should sleep;

But when I'm home, my fond and greatest need
is just to not be bothered by your kind
if you are diff'rent than what's from my seed,
then I'd not have you there, for me to find.

So if my sails are set where charts have shown
you sail your way, and I will sail my own!

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Echoing abuse

His words concealed a life so full of lies
His hand was soft which held her gentle palm
She raised her head and looked into his eyes
Without a twitch he played her heart with calm

He knew the signs the ways to find his prey
He’d showed his smile and hid his means to harm
It was for him a laugh a game to play
Where he portrayed a mask with grace and charm 

From young till now with ease she chose wrong men 
And then she’d fight to keep her man in vain 
She craved their rage became the nagging hen
It seemed as if she aimed to live with pain

Dad hid mum and he found a mum to hit
Mum loved dad and she was treated like sh*t

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Riding to Antioch

I ride hard for the ridge top and I see 
The walls of Orontes girded Antioch
And beyond the sea.  A gateway, a fee, 
Bars the way but for a moment nonplus.
I must get home, for I journeyed for us.
I endured horrid thirst and pain anew
To cross the vast desert to be with you.
To my heart, you hold the orichalc key. 
You are the cause I rush I do not mock.
I ache to see you golden and you me.
I am your Ganymede and Patroclus.
You are my god Zeus and my Achilleus.
I take off my tunic, you yours and shoe,
I am fired by that look you give askew.

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Eternal Sparrow

Two thousand years ago a tiny bird
Loved by a Roman beauty met his death.
Catullus, a poet, was by passion stirred
And penned light lines, as fresh as baby’s breath.
“She loved him more than her own eyes,” wrote he,
“For he was gentle.” Furthermore he told
Of their affection pure that held the key
To sacred love, precious to her as gold.
That sparrow and his mistress live anew,
In everlasting, perfect adoration.
Catullus told their tale. There’s no adieu
And their true bond still offers inspiration.
A poem can send echoes throughout time,
To touch our hearts today with love sublime.

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December of that Year - Act 1

I travelled to New York in December of that year
Flying over the Atlantic as the world began to fear
Panic was in abundance as religions declared their all
About the Mayans and 2012 for their writings depict our fall

I flew into JFK, just a Highlander holidaying loon
Booking into my hotel, unknowing of tomorrows strewn
I settled into the night, turning on the news
The channels were reporting the possible, leaving me confused

I awaken very early, it's now December the 21st
The sky appears to be yellow, like the sun has finally burst
I'm seventy stories up, and the hotels in violent shake
I hear loud drones above so it cannot be a quake

Dark shadows pass my window, although it's early morn
I start to think back to the news last night, is this earths forewarn

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CAUSE AND EFFECT Death of Socrates - Fall of Athens

    The Death Of Socrates
What reasoning has brought you to this place
where death destroys your gift of sanctity?
Before the fall of night, and in disgrace
yes, all those hating you, shall make it be;

they'll label you confused right to your end
corrupter of all teachers of the truth
convincing all the world, you have no friend,
and die for untold sins against our youth.

Your good and bad has brought you to despair;
all indecisiveness in what you think,
the crown upon your head, where once was hair
outshines the goblet from which you now drink.

     How can you bear the hemlock in such style,
      almost as if the world can see you smile?
Let all the wrath, unmercifully divine,
we have to muster, lead us in our quest,
and bring Athenian rule to be in line,
as sure the gods provide they fail the test,
all in our time, for Lacedaemon rules,
have we not made of man the equal to
the sight of death, upon the plights of fools
resisting all the means that we can do?
Their setting sun has risen in the east,
before the dark, those left will have to burn,
their knowledge is their fat, and only feast,
for all they know, they've yet to ever learn!
     Now let the blood to flow down from the hill,
      as if the flood has come and made the kill.
                       © ron wilson aka veebdosa the doylestown poet

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December of that Year - Act 2

Slowly I walk to the window as I am attracted by the light
What could cause such brightness before my day becomes bright
I step out on the balcony, my eyes lured towards the sky
Spaceships of various sizes, is this our world in nigh

In the sky above Central Park, appears the daddy of them all
Whilst all around are smaller ones in deliberate hover fall
Just off to my right I hear explosions and screaming cries
Then suddenly down below, one hovers and catches my eye

Inscriptions on it's side, remind me of 2nd century glyphs
Can it be that they have been here before, and banish alien myth
The writings that I see are similar to the Mayan race
From the site at Naranjo, yes, Guatemala being the place

My mind in wheels of confusion as to why today has arrived
Leads me to think that this happening is genius in contrive

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hampton's end

as the empty jackets sway
awaiting the days of thee inn
while the shore cries back
between the light houses 
englishmen invites bagels 
to dine the lobster screams
the claws are red
but not ready yet
while the taken
takes a stand alone
as the sable dance outback
behind the paisley gates 
the dark drapes fall
over the last call
ah a spider
splashes in the final sip
of hot cider

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Auschwitz Shoes

Can you hear the waning cries in their grave,
the ones who humanity could not save.
Jews condemned without just cause
since that was the way of Nazi laws.

Their shoes lie heaped on cold damp floor
trophies of the Second World War.
Lives that filled these shoes of mystery,
walked the death path of Auschwitz history.

Crumpled and wearied without any souls
from the brutal treatment of Nazi patrols.
Wails will be heard for years to come
scorched in walls, an enormous sum.

Time can’t undo the tears that were shed
but we can respect the brave and dead… 

Copyright © 2010  By Caryl S. Muzzey

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The day we die is peace to what's the soul
to fly into and through the dark of space
We join the love of God-- death is our goal,
into the light of Him and His embrace;

But as we go, one part we leave behind
'tis physical, and what we think's the end;
and buried in the heap, if we've the mind,
or burned and scatterred to the blowing wind!

Them bones that dry won't stand the test of time;
and if there's thought to be a bit of gold;
the search is on, through earthly grist and grime
to dig us up, so that our tale is told!

The curse of time is on the diggers head;
With little thought they make love to the dead.
© ron wilson ©

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In the middle of a meal
As tempting as Nebuchadnezzar’s table
She feasted fiercely
Without noticing the protruding bone,
in the fish she churns

Alas a cry
For help,
Creating a sore in the throat
Neither water nor food
Shall find its way down

For her system disrupted
Like our system of governance

She must be treated
For their to be an improvement

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A time shall come
When our tongues shall die
And our issue
Shall speak no more

A time is yet to come
When they shall become fugitives
Not of warfare
But of Origo

A time is to come
When they shall all be masked
In another character’s costume
Forgetting the role to be played
A time when we shall all cry
In our private bosom

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Elijah and the Priests of Baal,
wanted to see whose God was true.
They built two altars on Mount Carmel.
The real God would send fire from the blue.

The priests sacrificed an animal.
They prayed, chanted, cut their arms and rocked.
But, from the sky, no fire fell,
While Elijah, pointed and mocked.

Finally, it was Elijah's turn.
He poured water on the altar,
then prayed, and fire fell down to burn,
the altar and even the water.

He ordered the priests put to the sword,
for defiling the land of the Lord.

(1 Kings 18:17-40)

For the "contest contest"

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Minnesota Nice

The great upper mid west
Minnesota put to the test
Ten thousand lakes and streams
Reality for many who like to dream

From Itasca state park
To the Louisiaina's wooden bark
The mighty Mississippi flows
Gently down the outcrop she goes

Crime rates are always's on the rise
But really does it come as such a surprise
Everyone seems to like to hug
Except when its a mosquito bug

So many call us Minnesota Nice
But some still say were Cold as Ice

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A Tale Of Two Tales

Santa was good to me when six years old
Several presents for me, blessed was I 
Bike under tree and I had never rode
Learned to ride that day, felt that I could fly

Then again when I was fourty-seven
Received bicycle as a Christmas gift
On that bike could fly like wind_ enliven
On it once more downhill moved so swift

Then there was slight accident on that bike
Pain and agony ended up being end
Surgery for injured back was my plight
Never road that bike again; there's more, friend

Three bikes in life, I've been blessed to posses
I've told two tales; one more poem due, I guess.

Sponsor: Gwendolen R
Contest: My Bicycle


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Variety of Wisdom

They set aside views sometimes avoiding conflict real.
Voicing their concerns to no-one that matters truly,
Ones that stir the pot, while time is what they steal,
These voices in shadows sustain all that’s unruly.
Riding the severity, ripping others minds cruelly.
They have no servitude, just societies recklessness.
Hidden behind the true wealth, fading unduly,
They do not fight for reality, existing in weakness.

Those who ultimately rise for all have great consciousness.
These are the thinkers, poets, philosopher’s existing free.
Each of these set aside and speaks driving from darkness.
Creativity from mind, allows them to speak, others to see.
Humankind has vast distinct differences, of what is freedom.
Unfortunately very few times, do rulers have true wisdom?

Written for

Sponsor Dr.Ram Mehta 
Contest Name The Spenserian Sonnet 

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Every second passes by me unseen But I can feel the weight of one minute After each hour my mind becomes keen: That these days are adding up bit by bit. Each week my personality alters A year goes by and my mind starts to twist Decades pass and it seems as time falters, My mentality gets lost in time’s mist. Yet when I am with you the clock stands still If only I could exploit these feelings I could stop the sands of time at my will But I’m not capable of these dealings Time now steals what I already forgot My mind starts to fade but our love will not

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My Spiritual Will

My worldly possessions, I leave to whoever is alive.
My words, I leave to who shall ever care to read.
My prayers of hope, I give for all that do survive.
My thoughts, I have shared orally to fix a need.

I shall leave this world with no blood heirs.
However, I have loved many children with heart.
I leave no challenges undone, with only a few tears.
I leave this world, without regrets from the start.

I leave my soul to those who are in need.
My remains, I renounce to natures desire.
Thoughts, I have inspired to spread as seed.
Love of the simplistic ideals to fly higher.

A belief, humanity will continue to great heights.
A prayer, there will be no more un-humane plights.

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Call me Madam

The second floor, opens only at night,
with class and distinction I set the scene.
Gentleman callers, are always polite,
for most of my girls are only eighteen.

I empty my lungs to squeeze in my dress,
revealing the larger part of my breasts.
With cleavage so low that it will impress,
while catering to, my gentleman guests.

Everything’s ready, doors open at eight
and gentleman callers soon file in.
The girls all curtsy as men congregate.
Discreet, they ponder their favorite sin.

Just call me Madam, my name is Maxine,
for men of distinction, the evening queen.

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Beware, Julius

Julius, I want to tell you of my dream last night. When I describe it to you, it will fill you with fright. From what I saw, I must tell you to beware. In my dream, your blood was spilling everywhere. With your military campaigns, you did very fine. You made yourself a name from Britain to Palestine. The patrician senators want you to believe they are your friends. However, the façade they present abruptly ends. They fear their power is ebbing away. You will assume absolute power someday. The senators don’t want this to become reality. As any other man, you are vulnerable to mortality. Please my lord, don’t go to the senate today. Avoid those conspirators and live to see another day.

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King of Annwvyn

His stature upon Pwyll he did impress,
In woolly grey clothing, a huntsmen’s dress,
Then spied the stag; he looked at Pwyll and claimed
‘I know thy name, O prince, but greet thee not!
Thou stole my kill and thou should be ashamed!’
Pwyll knew his deed was wrong; a dreadful thing,
He asked the huntsmen’s name to make amends,
The huntsmen said ‘Arawn, the Annwvyn King’
The prince then asked, ‘Lord, how can we be friends?’
The King then told a tale of war’s duress,
‘Pray, rid my lands of this oppressive lot!
Pray, rid my lands of Havgan!’ he proclaimed.
‘I will gladly,’ said Pwyll, ‘and friendship bring
I’ll bring Havgan’s wars to their bitter ends!’ 

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We Can

Where, are we now, is the question at hand.
How are we to feel, upon this lifetime?
Are we to sit, now do nothing or stand?
Up against evil, as well simple crime,

This country became great, not from money.
From doing the right thing, when needed now,
American life not always sunny,
We have become, to greedy for endow.

Our wants, desires, out grew natural needs.
Things have become more important to all.
We have grown much waste, harvested no seeds.
Forgot about love, betrayed natures call.

March forward; bring back our ancestors plan.
Building country stronger, you know we can.

Written for
Sponsor Paula Swanson 
Contest Name Just poetry 

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Speak Street

Speak Street
Written by: D. Collins 12/16/14
To law enforcement, law makers, and all knowledgeable men.
There’s a universal language everybody understands.
It has no talking points, nor use for keywords.
It doesn’t beat around the bush, and, is never scared.
There’s consensus in every corner of the globe.
Speak street to people, they’ll come into the fold.
It creates the willingness to communicate.
And, brings down the barriers that causes hate.
Speak street to people before bringing out the tanks.
Give the people reason to give the system thanks.
Stand before them and look them eye-to-eye.
Ask them why they march? They will tell you why.
Alongside the action, mindsets have to change.
Until all are equal, life won’t be the same.
Black mothers are tired of seeing their sons die.
They’ve seen so much pain, there are no more tears to cry.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Battle at the Ford

A year and one day Pwyll lived as the king,
By day he’d hunt, by night he’d feast and sing,
Yet turn his back upon the lovely queen,
To show his loyalty as a king’s friend
Although the queen was as fair as he’d seen.
Then upon the appointed day he went
To the Ford to meet Annwvyn’s deadly foe
And there struck Havgan so his life was spent
After his victory, Pwyll had to go
To the glade where the men first planned this thing
And then at last their ruse was at its end.
On his return Arawn’s wife made comment
When the king allowed his passion to show
And learned how loyal his new friend had been.

Details | Sonnet | |

Dirty Black Love

Dirty Black Love
Written By: D. Collins 2/19/15
Dirty black love is all that Obama gets.
A regression to oppression from all his hypocrites.
Just know dirty black love will never get to me.
Because, I'm a child of God, no matter what they may see.
I am the man my God intended me to be.
Showing love to those who have hate for me.
What we do in return cannot be discussed.
Just know that dirty black love really bothers us.
What I see on Fox 5, makes me take a second breath.
Knowing how many show signs of being Confederates.
Dirty black love is how it has always been.
But, that doesn't mean we have to bow down to them.

Details | Sonnet | |

Bronze Age Mysteries

The Old Straight Track climbs up towards the ridge,
A tangent to this ancient burial ground
Where Bronze Age bodies slumber under mounds;
In number, nine, each barrow with a ditch.

Who were these folk that lie beneath this field –
Hunter-gatherer, warrior, father, son ?
Side by side in death – was it a violent one ?
And those events by which their fate was sealed,

Are they recorded here in artefact ?
The warrior’s sword or chieftain’s sash;
The Leyman’s poles for sighting work, exact,
Along the ley via beacon, stone and flash.

These rolling Lambourne downs are drenched in history,
Come, take the track with me and share the mystery.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Discovery.

Heavy,thick dust on the floors and benches
Open back door and a key on the table
Grass uncut, beer bottles strewn about
Brown water spurting out, pipes detached
Original wallpaper melting off the walls..
Old ,loose fitting, rusty  handles on doors
The house is empty,rotting junk mail aplenty
A vine inside creeped in from the floorboards
No kitchen,no handrail,where are the landlords?
A peaceful view of a  backyard with a wild turkey
Lorikeets happily feasting on bright flowered tree.
Misty sun showers on a  western mountain horizon.
She said "Do you like what you see of our discovery?"
Her pointy nose + fine sense of scent lead us there.

Details | Sonnet | |

Down In The Wet Land

On mornings as cold inside as out__burr
She knelt__held a match against fat lighterd
For she knew that this was required of her
The fire would smoke, sputter__soon blaze occured

Spreading rapidly engulfing the wood
Seemed like a miracle from where I stood
How she went on from year to  year__question
What could she have been in better situation

She would blow the spark that ignited flames
Fire would glow as did her small meager life
But from her life a blaze planted__child tame
Who would write of her hardships being wife

And how she would teach where the Sweet Shurbs grow
Down in the wet land beside the road
(How to appreciate corn bread, buttermilk, and butter cold.)

Details | Sonnet | |


Isn't New York City the leading global city? 
Wait...why is it called The Big Apple?
And for those who don't's the aswer:
it was named after the poor street vendors,
selling apples during the Depression.
And despite all the traffic jams and noises,
New York City is still a great city!
Manhattan's avenues are quite at night...
illuminated by those skyscrapers!  
See the Brooklyn Bridge cross the East river,
such wonders are The Whitestone, the Throgs Neck, 
the Washington and the Manhattan Bridges!

Yes, Queens is the melting part of the world;
where would you find such a diversity?

Entered in Brian Strand's contest, " Sonnet Me "

Details | Sonnet | |

Henry IV: Prerogative and Piety

Enterprising Henry IV declares suzerainty over state
Xenophobic princes seek the royal prerogative to abate
Cautious king uses diplomacy, threats his minions to subjugate
Old rivals in Saxony Henry's consolidation with tyranny equate
Morose princes in the hinterland seek to avoid a similar fate
Manic King Henry sends his forces the opposition to eradicate
Unifying his kingdom, Henry dispatches puppets, builds forts his 
subjects to ingratiate
Nouveau Pope, Gregory VII, seeks his spiritual fiefdom to 
Invoking ban on German King's power to bishops nominate
Calculating King refuses to cooperate with this diabolical dictate
Arrogant Pope responds to Henry's disobedience with a writ to 
Terrified, Henry performs penance to wipe clean the slate
Ecclesiastical mantra restored; Pope Gregory VII absolves the 
humbled magnate 
Demeaned but not demised, Henry continued to temporal, spiritual 
power appropriate 


Details | Sonnet | |

Our Promise

Dear Judy Konos,
          OUR PROMISE    
Don't think We're down--You're country, tis of thee
For which our Flags been woven and unfurled,
this very thread, it binds us constantly,
becoming still the envy of the world.

In fifty states we grew to all we are,
and though some think God's guidance is not there,
this truth comes shining through in every Star;
Our Liberty of life shows ever'rywhere.

To tell the world, Come you, and learn our way,
there is no secret to how we have grown,
and in God's light, God's light is where we stay,
to guide you to what we have only known.

between each line, God's word is meant to share,
and "We the People..." is what keeps it there.
    by veebdosa 04/16/2011 (Dedicated to my friend Judy Konos in New Orleans)

Details | Sonnet | |

The Indian Harmonious Chords

Based on the great Indian soil,
Great rhythms created you from your toil-
Like the morning star made you shine,
The 'Rhythms' made you absolutely fine.

Of late youths seem oblivious to you beauty,
More prone to rock music's name-
What a sorrow ,what a shame-
And none interested to return thee thy fame.

The ancient 'Rhythms' gave you a grand place,
Making you full of beauty and grace,
Like an incense stick you engross the midst of the face,
You are much noble than any music of this race.

Let's have a humble try to revive its glory!
Surely will it protect from being stabbed by a gully.

Details | Sonnet | |


What mystery of life runs through  the mind,
exchanged, such glances, never meant to share,
to raise our heartbeats, if one's there to find,
and if we have the will to take the dare.

To rock the Casbah, is this sin a crime?
Or just beginnings for the world in need
Of change to Westernize all life and time,
to bury burqas where there is no seed?

To see and fall in love through satin thin,
how many have there been to die alone,
and how much beauty seen becomes a sin,
to men who have a heart of solid stone?

Tunisian girl, the world is now ... for you,
So Rock the Casbah, like it's coming true!
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa

Details | Sonnet | |


I'm the sonneteer of another era,
Struggling for fame and dreaming of glories...
Living free in prosperous America,
Where there's hunger for interesting stories.

Invite me to share yours as thrills resume;
I will give my opinion anytime,
But perfect syllables count and strict rhyme scheme
Are required for rhythm to happily chime.

Petrarch and Shakespeare were the greatest
Poets who created remarkable sonnets;
Read their works with unquenchable zest:
You'll discover they wrote them in the hundreds!

Study the unique forms of each sonnet; 
Model yours on them with true interest!    

Details | Sonnet | |


Let all the wrath, unmercifully divine,
we have to muster, lead us in our quest,
and bring Athenian rule to be in line,
as sure the gods provide they fail the test,

all in our time, for Lacedaemon rules,
have we not made of man the equal to
the sight of death, upon the plights of fools
resisting all the means that we can do?

Their setting sun has risen in the east,
before the dark, those left will have to burn,
their knowledge is their fat, and only feast,
for all they know, they've yet to ever learn!

Now let the blood to flow down from the hill,
as if the flood has come and made the kill.
© ron wilson

Details | Sonnet | |

The Date

Pulling teeth seems more appealing
than the squeaky reeling, the howling
experience, of the flogging date
I had with you; like catfish to bait.
Cracked my skull wide open.
Can’t think, can’t explain the straight pin
lobotomy I received from a kiss,
which, at first, brought cosmic bliss.
I thought my rocket expelled
into love space rather than Hell.
Had I known what I know now,
I would not have kissed the cow.

(A metaphor for the U.S. involvement in Iraq.)


Details | Sonnet | |


He stood there on a plateau that only had a tree,
And since he had appeared from nowhere there
Was no a past to be lumbered with. 
He sat under the tree mainly because it was 
Getting hot and the tree had big thick leaves and
Beside the tree there was a barrel of cold water.
During the day the plateau became shimmering
He saw ponies trotting past like a knitted poncho.

Since he had no past only a fragment of a future 
Instinct told him they were going to the green vale
That had grass, shade and a lagoon that reflected 
The sky, or was it the other way around?
He sat there tried to visualise future where he didn´t
Exist, but he failed, which made him human.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Blocks Been Torn Apart

Seen my brothers locked away in a cage
strugglin tryin not to get life doubled
and excuse me but we got rational rage
on the block our only hope is to bubble
rantings in pen no one thinks that I'm sane
seen brothers pass away and do you feel
look at the pavements shade, thats from blood stains
we gettin peeled can't we see the streets is real
now we deny I'm tryna figure why,
no one care when our lost souls go
we rationalize we all gotta die
but he's just sixteen 'that's how the blood flow'
we all in pain if we don't heed the heart
and it seems the blocks been torn apart

Details | Sonnet | |

Somewhere Beyond Eternity

There was once a tale time could only tell
To be made and unmade, all souls cannot hide
From distant hands that cast a greater spell
All life and all death in us has to confide

Seasons bring memories to our minds undimmed
Blessed to the day, sacred to the night
Every end to every end, all humans skimmed
Across time and space, foresaid by plight

Many among us has long lived enough to allay
What has consumed our eyes to defy the vow
And expressions, adjourned, as if to say
If only you can see what we all see now

So long as we all can live with liberty...
So long we live somewhere beyond eternity...

Details | Sonnet | |

Desert Moon

Created, desolated, resurrected and even in reverse, 

You are a transformation under a Sun drenched day. 

Beckoned or heralded you climb above a beaming ray, 

Bristles of your hair shall glow and many are perverse. 


Shuffled, hurdled, corner-stoned and even immerse, 

You are a salvation upon a Mountain leading a way. 

Stripped or naked you run below an endless cache, 

Light inside of you shall outpour so all will disperse. 


The collectors shall find, 

Lost on a course in time, 

Many stranded or behind, 

Many with no unjust crime! 


Jacked up, a ripped off, a maniac or just downright a true blue loon, 

Still remaining is a red flaming shield up under a sacred desert Moon. 


Details | Sonnet | |


Through the graceful cones of your loud speakers,
Prayers go out to Alla al Akhbar.
And like a flag waving in a prophetic breeze,
You are a blindfolded hostage weeping on your knees.
In your fair root neighborhood of Shudada,
Stryker vehicles crackle past your ancient walls,
As tanks smash through deserted homes. 
And the endless stockpiles of artillery shells,		     
The mortar rounds, rocket-propelled grenades, 
Electronics for making bombs, were simply small caches,
Left by nomadic insurgents, cells long slipped away.
But you, sweet holy city of Falluja, you will live on,
For when the foreign snipers on your roofs are gone,
You will live on as the city of mosques, city of graves.

Details | Sonnet | |


The heat of battle's what manhood is for
when struggle for the right comes to a head
erupting to a world in need of war
and needing change to how we've made our bed!

We cannot sleep in this, it's much too soft,
mistakes brought on by politicians greed,
and so the winds of war come from aloft
aloosening the horsemen and their steed!

The preachers of dead faith wail at the wall
protesting ev'ry battle cry and truth,
though freezing in the night, they heed the call
of cardless, nameless cowards lost in youth.

      But when the battle comes they'll take their leave
       not caring who is left to ever grieve.

Too late, there's not a one to even pray,
there at the wall, submission is the rule,
they give too much, and play no keep-away,
not holding out, lest they are thought a fool.

while Netanyahu, leader of his quest,
the first so born in bounderies of their State
and made prime minister, whom God has blest,
and given all the keys to seal their fate.

But still the blind stand wailing to the wall,
and ready to lie down, pretending dead,
unwilling to be part of this, the call,
to arm, but give up everything, instead.

From Benjamin their fate is all too clear,
And losing is the only thing to fear.

Details | Sonnet | |


The lords who lords but none
Who have the elephant and Ahab’s for the crab?
Snake that does not like longness
Proving themselves lords only when ulcer belly cries

They are the lords who slaughter us alive
Like cannibals to their victims
As good as earthquake to the land
Keeping their pledge anti-clock wisely.

They are the lords who bite their mothers’ nipples
The lords who exploit not steal their siblings’ share
Oh! The lords who bear I and only I in their minds
Are thy not the lords who completed that road in their records

Change I plea you oh! Lords
In order to become the lords thou claim. 

Details | Sonnet | |

Nigeria 1

Nigeria is this you the golden eagle
Feeding on dried vegetation with wings in black
Once like Isaac in sight of Abraham
A rose in the hands of jezebel thou are

Could that be you so lean as if HIV positive
Infected by unfaithful partners of yours
That prefer thy quality to that of leprosy hands
Oh! What a paradoxical life

Can you ever grow Inspite of all this 
Like the great Iroko tree in my village
But if the red cap, the talking drum 
And the great amara eaters will come toge’er with one voice

And say like the biblical Jesus, “stand and walk”
I know that thy bone shall rise again.

Details | Sonnet | |


We were three, though unequal but warriors
Like the herdsmen we were
A glance tells of Our Genesis
All bound in one future

On our way came ghosts white
Scepter they posed  
Extorting and painting us white
Suddenly we woke, we the warriors

In extricate we intricate
Till they went as they came
Our dreams climaxed in one faith
Far not from there, one said to another

Thou are a ghost
What I heard was groans, our fate I know not. 

Details | Sonnet | |

A Year and a Day

It was agreed in a day and a year
That Pwyll should return to fight without fear.
For a year and one day, they swapped places,
Their form, spirit and looks they exchanged, they did;
No soul could tell, nor those who knew their faces.
But how would Pwyll know Havgan, Arawn’s foe,
‘The date is fixed, a year tonight, we meet’
The King explained ‘as me, you, he will know!
One swipe of sword, will bring Havgan’s defeat
And if he should ask for more, do not hear
Just one swipe you need, do not hear his bid
For if you should deliver one more blow
His power to fight returns; replaces.’
Said the King ‘When it’s done as friends we’ll meet.’

Details | Sonnet | |


     DRESDEN, GERMANY February 13, 1945
Pathfinders lit the night to show the way
for bombardiers too hungry for the word;
as Dresden's dark was made as light as day,
all hearts were stopped before the blasts were heard;

and as the din was heard by all their ears
the sound it made was not reality
but far removed from all the hopes and fears
and what they thought would never come to be.

They loved the Fuhrer -- sin enough for all
to die the fiery death of sweet revenge
brought on by those who had enough of gall
to drop their loads in wartimes heated binge!

       And when the fire consumed all that it could
        the winter of their lives was understood.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet.

Details | Sonnet | |

Global Trot

I’m out of my mind but I am just perfect and just fine.
I went around the world and what a blast it was for me.
I’m sent with a message from a golden gate master key.
I shook I rattled and I rolled brand new maps I did align.

I founded you and I demolished you but swam like a fish in line.
I ran to and fro as I was left behind thrown forward but I did see.
It is a global trot I tell you to survive naked or dressed just to be.
And then it came to be true and real that this was mine all mine.

So I sit in the seat with no defeat.
The world goes stupid and so mad,
But I stay clean and of course neat,
It’s just a silly little one time life fad.

Pain and suffering has just about killed me and you,
Together or apart it is a world we will always renew!

®Registered: Ann Rich   2009

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Fabled proud towers across the Aegean
Sheer walls never breached;
From far-off  Hellas rarely seen
Till by the angry Greeks full-reached.

Burnt and humbled, a culture erased.
After ten years the city strong-walled
Was obliterated, washed away, effaced  -
And history was appalled.

So also  the Atlantis, Cumorah,and  Inca delirium
Drowned in the flow of time,
Killed in their flowering, like Illium :
Such cultural perfection sublime.

        The tide  of history washes and cleans 
        Leaving no trace of stillborn might-have-beens 

Details | Sonnet | |


How old are you--young man--why do you stare?
  The world awaits for you to raise your soul--
though fettered to the wind--and ev'rywhere,
  in time a dream will make you free and whole--

to walk again--the Valley of the Kings
  and ride upon the waters of the Nile--
where spirits bathe, and Nephritite sings,
  the secrets of the past--for yet a while,

the world is obdurate of any scheme,
  that brings new life--once death has made its' call
though greater men than you--have known this dream,
  not one still hides behind his secret wall--

  and no remains--stay hidden to the past--
  if golden chains are known to hold them fast.
© Ron wilson aka vee bdosa

Details | Sonnet | |

The Last Pharoah

Hail Cleopatra, Princess of the Nile
Cunning lies within your devious plan 
Secrets cleverly hidden in a smile 
Silent Cobra coiled, striking heart of man 
Your body a temple, your sacred shrine 
Bathed in duplicity and sweet beguile 
Taste Ceasar, Antony, on lips of wine 
Life lived in beauty and splendid denial 
Rome laying siege to your glistening crown 
Stinging bite of asp, a fitting demise 
Egypt cried rivers in sorrow and drowned 
The world left to ponder in truth or lies
  Surface beauty of face and form so rare 
  Masks sinister ugliness hidden there 

Details | Sonnet | |


I put up the barriers and molded the Great White Stone.
I searched all written doctrines that embodied my light.
It was a remarkable journey let me tell you of my flight.
I even went through DNA of every strand of every bone.
I matched all the genetic linage to kind energies ingrown.
It was like an open door after door where all turns bright.
The misplacement that followed is truly way out of sight.
Seeing it all made me search my truth and I wasn’t alone.
I felt like I am the only one.
There was just me to believe.
There was too much undone.
More than humans conceive.
This was an origin unknown and not of this world.
This is timeless intelligence appropriately swirled.

Details | Sonnet | |



Nigeria is this you the mighty?
The diamond in sought by moon faced ladies
From world of tale where value values
Discovered and polished by civilized dignities.

Nigeria is this you crumbled by hatred?
Pure gold covered with dust by the miners
Curtain call is for Cain 
A land blessed than the biblical Eden

In the hands of greedy Rehoboam
Who swore to break your back with horsewhip
Children who delight in kill’ their mother on Birth stole.
Desperate ritualists who choose to Sacrif’e the oval.

When shall you rise in the hands of your enslavers?
Like Joseph of the coat of many colours.

Details | Sonnet | |


After Jesus' resurrection in Jerusalem,
in the same windowless room,
where The Last Supper was held:
with a sudden rush of the gusting wind,
the Holy Spirit descended upon them,
to bestow the gift of different languages...

That was a reminder that the Master, who had been crucified,
hadn't forgotten them and His fervent wish rested on
their relentless faith and strength to courageously spread 
the true Gospel with firm utterance;  and they knew, it 
was a great mission both dangerous and spiritual:
to go out in the Roman Empire, a place of many vague idols,
and in the Colosseum be executed or mauled by lions,
but their fear was replaced by the glowing fire of Holy spirit...   

Entered in the Pentecost Brian Strand's contest

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Details | Sonnet | |

The Blocks Been Torn Apart

Seen my brothers locked away in a cage
strugglin tryin not to get life doubled
and excuse me but we got rational rage
on the block our only hope is to bubble
rantings in pen no one thinks that I'm sane
seen brothers pass away and do you feel
look at the pavements shade, thats from blood stains
we gettin peeled can't we see the streets is real
now we deny I'm tryna figure why,
no one care when our lost souls go
we rationalize we all gotta die
but he's just sixteen 'that's how the blood flow'
we all in pain if we don't heed the heart
and it seems the blocks been torn apart

Details | Sonnet | |

The Gap

So many empty spaces with cracked dimensions as stardust flew by.
So I counted to ten and held my breath knowing this would just never end.
At every angle there was a gap so I tagged them all with messages to send.
I stepped through portals leading me to places orbiting way too high.

I passed through broken dreams and landed where the Sun never shined.
No Moon, no Stars, and no galaxies were straight, much less aligned.
The Earth had gone completely berserk and the seasons were sudden to change.
It was the gap warping time and even the people looked far beyond strange.

I listened to faint vibrations and watched galaxies as they all weakened.
Time was lost and gone forever, for they had all been forewarned and told.
I found a spot and planted the last starlight and watched closely as it strengthened.
It grew and grew even withering through the hot and cold.

Shooting through portals I spread my light and left it a sparkling trail.
Ray by ray a beam filled the gap and lit it up by my new starlight’s flaming tail.

®Registered: Ann Rich  2005

Details | Sonnet | |

sonnet of salem

the dark woods 'round
fed by hallowed hell fires,
blasphemous bells toll
echoes of satan's ire.
lifeless loves, livestock & lifestyle lulled
dolefully to sleep,
dust to dust
as we all must.
will i, peaceful & saved
in God's earthen hands be laid?
surely, lest to some devil is given the spade.
for evil hearts i yet weep,
as pure souls can savage demons surround.
did christ forsee a cauldron from the calvary mound?

Details | Sonnet | |

Son of Dyfed

Oh! Pwyll, lord of Dyfed, sounded his horn,
At Glyn Cuch, while hunting early morn,
The hounds were baying through the woodland glade,
And Pwyll could hear other dogs drawing near,
When he spied a stag standing in the shade,
He saw the dogs with hair of shining white,
With glistening ears of deep crimson red,
That pulled down the deer in the pale dawn light,
And Pwyll, he wanted to claim that stag’s head.
He saw off the dogs with his words of scorn,
And called his hounds who his voice obeyed,
And there they set upon the fallen deer,
As Pwyll watched, a horseman came into sight,
To look on the princely son of Dyfed.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Joust Sonnet No 3

Context each a feature, joust by name-
Whose length of lance shall contact be made first
Both are measured equal, and held the same
But only one shall win, the other cursed.
And intricate does a magical reform
Both horse and armour contribute to show;
Some skills, that to entice shall new inform
Be something that the other didn't know. 
Where this becomes as close to misdirect 
It doesn't choose a whereabouts or plan
But instincts out to find it then connect;
To make the fall to ground, a weaker man.   
When honour was presented to enthral
It chose the braver option over all.

Details | Sonnet | |

The Blocks Been Torn Apart

Seen my brothers locked away in a cage
strugglin tryin not to get life doubled
and excuse me but we got rational rage
on the block our only hope is to bubble
rantings in pen no one thinks that I'm sane
seen brothers pass away and do you feel
look at the pavements shade, thats from blood stains
we gettin peeled can't we see the streets is real
now we deny I'm tryna figure why,
no one care when our lost souls go
we rationalize we all gotta die
but he's just sixteen 'that's how the blood flow'
we all in pain if we don't heed the heart
and it seems the blocks been torn apart

Details | Sonnet | |


She rose like an eagle from her rock
Into cerulean palace perched on high
And ruled in rainbow days her winged stock
Ecstatic in pleasures all good to try.
For to what purpose else her commerce then
Her merchanted corridors of pearl sand
That arched wisdom that was the praise of men
And proud polity of an esteemed land?
Wealth swayed her lifestyle from rigor to ease
Made leisure ultimate in the bright dream
Moral walls crumble when vigilance cease
The eagle does not see how the glint's gleam
Marked upon the hunter's eye, the fresh
Frenzy of feathers ... vanity in flesh. 

Details | Sonnet | |


If you should go there ask for old Amin
Who shared with us the same belief of sin
See if he will forgive us again coming late
Here alien seeds were sown, he reaped the hate

If you should go there in the scant of tent
Where sallow skin is carved on children's bones
See the drooping breast, flagged and penitent
Muttering manic syllables in suffering's tones

Pick up the trail of steel from rich shores sent
The relic riffles, the fractured armament 
Of bullets and beliefs, the vain gospel of aid
Seeking market structures in the masquerade

If you go there where Amin in sand dunes
Sleeps, pray for me, the sorrow of the ruins

Details | Sonnet | |

The Blocks Been Torn Apart

Seen my brothers locked away in a cage
strugglin tryin not to get life doubled
and excuse me but we got rational rage
on the block our only hope is to bubble
rantings in pen no one thinks that I'm sane
seen brothers pass away and do you feel
look at the pavements shade, thats from blood stains
we gettin peeled can't we see the streets is real
now we deny I'm tryna figure why,
no one care when our lost souls go
we rationalize we all gotta die
but he's just sixteen 'that's how the blood flow'
we all in pain if we don't heed the heart
and it seems the blocks been torn apart

Details | Sonnet | |

Adolf in touch

Sometimes, though not often anymore
Hitler taps my shoulder
Be serious you laugh, this could not be
But you are you and I am me
Quietly reading, hidden in a book
As I so often was in midst of Blitz
A fast running front, a storm
A roll of thunder crumples in the distance
Grows louder near
Flashes and crashes here
Rumbling recedes
The storm passes
And my subconscious
Listens for sirens
Sounding  All Clear

Details | Sonnet | |

Preparation for a Portrait

To wear precious jewels night + day
To be swathed in fine fabrics work or play
Her portrait hangs painted in oils
Her complexion captured time cannot spoil
Photographs we cherish and keep in our pockets
Prior cameras minature paintings kept in lockets.
The oil portrait outlasts a photograph by far
Personal prestige denotes how important we are.
What is your do you wish to be viewed?
My sitters are prompted to be embellished in gems
If none are at hand we shall superimpose them.
Diamonds,rubies,emerals,pearls and sapphires
Oil paint manifests all the elements I desire.
Such velvets and Satins even Rembrant would approve. 

Details | Sonnet | |

The Will To Go On... (English Sonnet)

Oh, weary bodies knelt on dirt to pray
as night reminds them of the work at hand.
In search of strength to trek another day;
with aching backs again bent over land.

The fields are empty as they travel far,
the farmers buckle one by one from loss.
Oh, all are wishing on the same poor star,
as each continues bearing their own cross.

Though barren breezes dry their hopeless tears
and dusty winds still burn their jaded eyes.
They are not blinded by their troubled fears
and know that their salvation will arise.

    The years of anguish eased with Roosevelt,
    a land reborn as the New Deal was dealt.